Truman Capote Quotes

I haven't anything against whores, except this: some of them may have an honest tongue but they all have dishonest hearts.

Maybe the older you grow and the less easy it is to put thought into action, maybe that’s why it gets all locked up in your head and becomes a burden.

As Miss Golightly was saying, before she was so rudely interrupted...

I don't think I've ever drunk champagne before breakfast before. With breakfast on several occasions, but never before before.

Since each story presents its own technical problems, obviously one can't generalize about them on a two-times-two-equals-four basis. Finding the right form for your story is simply to realize the most natural way of telling the story. The test of whether or not a writer has defined the natural shape of his story is just this: After reading it, can you imagine it differently, or does it silence your imagination and seem to you absolute and final? As an orange is final. As an orange is something nature has made just right.

I am always drawn back to places where I have lived, the houses and their neighborhoods.

"Randolph," he said, "were you ever as young as me?" And Randolph said: "I was never so old."

Brazil was beastly but Buenos Aires the best. Not Tiffany's, but almost.

Still, when all is said, somewhere one must belong: even the soaring falcon returns to its master's wrist.

I've got to stay awake,' she said, punching her cheeks until the roses came. 'There isn't time to sleep, I'd look consumptive, I'd sag like a tenement, and that wouldn't be fair: a girl can't go to Sing Sing with a green face.

No. Because I'm not a cold plate of m-m-macaroni. I'm a warm-hearted person. It's the basis of my character.

We all, sometimes, leave each other there under the skies, and we never understand why.

you got to want it to be good, and I don't want it.

Imagine a morning in late November. A coming of winter morning more than twenty years ago. Consider the kitchen of a spreading old house in a country town. A great black stove is its main feature; but there is also a big round table and a fireplace with two rocking chairs placed in front of it. Just today the fireplace commenced its seasonal roar. A woman with shorn white hair is standing at the kitchen window. She is wearing tennis shoes and a shapeless gray sweater over a summery calico dress. She is small and sprightly, like a bantam hen; but, due to a long youthful illness, her shoulders are pitifully hunched. Her face is remarkable — not unlike Lincoln’s, craggy like that, and tinted by sun and wind; but it is delicate, too, finely boned, and her eyes are sherry-colored and timid. “Oh my,” she exclaims, her breath smoking the windowpane, “it’s fruitcake weather!

In school we only learn to recognize the words and to spell but the application of these words to real life is another thing that only life and living can give us.